The Gallathorne Games
by MarvelAsh
Summary: Each year, one boy and one girl from each district shall compete in an arena and fight to the death. It is intended to mock us. To torture us. To remind us that we are under their complete control. We are forced to treat is as a happy celebration, an anniversary. The Capitol celebrates the event. Based off of Hunger Games. Cammie as Katniss. FIRST 4 CHAPTERS REWRITTEN!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: These first few chapters have been re-written! So read, and let me know what you think of the changes ;)**

* * *

I draw back on the arrow in my fingers until the bowstring is pulled taunt. The rabbit in front of me freezes, muscles tensed and ready to run. But I beat it to the punch, letting the arrow fly. The rabbit crumples to the ground and I smile in victory.

I look up at the sun. It's almost sunset. I have just enough time to trade in my stash before I have to bring dinner home. The rabbit is placed in the burlap bag with the others as I grab my bag of strawberries and head through the woods and towards the fence.

The butcher is only a few yards away from the electric fence surrounding the woods I'm currently standing in illegally. Venturing into the woods is illegal because of the snakes, bears and cougars. But if you know what you're doing, there are tons of food sources in here. Of course, since weapons are also illegal- the Peacekeepers can't condone you owning something that could potentially be used against them-there isn't much you can do. Unless your father was a secretly skilled craftsman and knew how to make bows and arrows, like mine.

I stop by the wire fence. The fence might have posed a problem, except it's never actually turned on. In District Twelve, a person is lucky if they get one hour of electricity in the evenings, after the natural light is gone. And most of that hour is used for the required evening broadcast.

The only exception is during the Gallathorne Games. When the Games are happening, everyone is required to watch the carnage, watch their friends or family members die. It's a kind gesture from the president herself, reminding us daily of how much of a generous woman she is.

I shake off any thoughts of the Games, wanting to have at least one more day of freedom before the Reaping happens. The section in front of me is stretched out and misshapen: perfect for crawling under.

The butcher takes the rabbits from me and gives me a stack of coins in return. I head to the Hob (read: black market), and spend the coins on some cheese for dinner.

I have one last stop to make: the baker's house, to sell the strawberries. I make it there in minutes, and walk up to the back door. Muffled shouting echoes through the thick wooden door as I hesitantly raise my hand to knock. The door opens and the baker is standing in front of me. He smiles as best he can, a tired expression on his face. We exchange hellos and he asks me to wait while he grabs two loaves of bread to trade.

I wait patiently for a moment.

"You STUPID boy!"

The shout startles me. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of a red-faced woman in an apron. She stands in front of a boy around my age. He has dark hair and deep emerald green eyes. I recognize him from school. Zach Goode. He stands silently as the woman I assume to be his mother berates him.

"We are not a charity, and you are not to be giving away food!"

Zach stands straighter at the comment and glares at his mother. "She's just a little girl! She was hurt, and hungry, and parting with a piece of bread and a bandage didn't hurt us!" His head whips to the side sharply as the woman slaps him, but he doesn't react.

"I don't care how hungry or injured they are! Any of them! They can all-"

I scramble back into place as the baker's footsteps echo in my direction. He frowns at the argument going on behind him, and then hands me two loaves of bread, still warm from the oven. The door is shut, quickly and firmly.

I take a few steps away from the door, glancing back a few times. Most people from the merchant section couldn't care less about the poor kids from the Seam, the section I live in. Zach is the first person to help a Seam resident out that I've heard of. I resign myself to the fact that I can't help him and then head home.

-:-:-:-

"Cammie!" My sister Liz runs towards me, arms outstretched for a hug. I finish putting cutting the bread into slices and hug her back. Lizzie sits on a chair next to me and helps get dinner ready.

"Lizzie-" I frown and let my voice trail off. "What happened?"

There is a bandage tied around her leg. Liz looks down at it and frowns.

"I fell and landed on a rock in the square today on the way home." Her face suddenly brightens. "But I went into the bakery to see the pretty cakes, and this boy helped me! He gave me a piece of bread and wrapped my leg so it didn't hurt!"

My mouth slowly drops open. I stare through her at nothing, remembering the baker's wife hitting her son. For Lizzie?

Lizzie carries on, telling me about the rest of her day, but I don't hear her. For the rest of the night, all I can see is that woman slapping Zach, over and over again.

-:-:-:-

I open my eyes and get out of bed. Today is Reaping day, the day we all meet in the square and watch somebody's child get sent to the Hunger Games.

I put on my hunting clothes and boots and walk out the door. Every Reaping day I meet Grant in the woods. It's the only bright spot in the day. Grant is my best friend and hunting partner.

I walk through the Seam, past the Meadow, and head towards the loose section of the gate. I crawl under it and head towards the marked tree, the first clue on the way to our meeting place. I reach a clearing in the trees, turn and continue on once I find the marked tree. I walk up the steep hill and come to our spot. Grant is already there, sitting on a large rock ledge. The ledge is resting on the crest of the hill and overlooking a small valley that winds through the trees. The area around the hill is a dense thicket of bushes and large oaks, camouflaging it from sight.

I stand stock-still for a moment in the middle of the trees, a branch full of leaves in front of me. I watch him look around for me. A frustrated look comes over his face as he looks around, his eyes passing right over me. He knows I'm there, but can't find me.

I've been able to blend in for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, my mother would take me out to the square with her. She would start worrying and searching the people around us trying to find me. I never understood why she couldn't see me. I was standing by a group of people right in front of her.

It began to happen more and more as I grew older. Most people's eyes would skip right over me. My father was one of the only ones who could find me, but only occasionally.

"Chameleon?" Grant calls softly.

My real name is Cameron, Cammie for short. The nickname Chameleon goes back to when we met. He was in the woods gathering berries, unaware that I was standing right behind him, watching. Grant finally turned around, finished, and studied the area around him, hearing me breathe, but unable to see me. "You're like a chameleon," he'd said, smiling at me.

"Cam, we both know that I won't be able to find you." Grant finally calls out, tiring of my game. I smile victoriously and go sit beside him. We sit in silence for a moment.

"How many times is your name in this year?"

Grant glares at me halfheartedly. We don't talk about the Gallathorne Games on Reaping day. It's an unspoken rule we have. A rule I don't see much point in. Why delay it?

He finally answers. "Forty-two." His name has been added extra times in return for extra food for his family. I do the same, but I only have Liz and my mother. Grant has five siblings and a mother.

I nod solemnly. "Twenty."

The Gallathorne Games are a torturous sport, designed to punish the Districts for the rebellion that happened over seventy-four years ago. The Districts had rebelled against the Capitol, all thirteen of them. District 13 was obliterated in the ensuing war, while the of us were defeated. The president at that time had invented the Gallathorne Games as a reminder that we were powerless. We couldn't even keep them from killing our children.

We make small talk for a while, nothing important. But it keeps us from having to face the Reaping, at least for a bit longer.

I finally stand up from our rock. "It's noon. Time to head back."

Grant looks up at me. "You go. I'm going to stay here for a minute." He looks around, a grim expression on his face. He needs time alone.

I leave him and thread my way back through the woods. It's beautiful out. The birds are singing, the trees and plants are a bright green. They seem almost to be taller, standing at attention in respect for this awful day. I frown. A day like this shouldn't be beautiful. It should be grey and dark and dreary. A storm. It should be storming on a day like this. That would be fitting.

A gallagher flies from the tree in front of me and lands a few feet away. I smile. Gallaghers are these beautiful silvery blue birds with long beaks. They have a unique ability in that they can mimic sounds and noises. District 13 used them during the rebellion to send messages using whistling noises and codes. That's one of the reasons I like them so much. They are a symbol of the rebellion. After District 13 was bombed, the birds scattered into the wild. Actually getting to see one is a rare thing.

My father loved them. That was the other reason I loved the rebellious birds. He would take me into the woods and whistle a short tune. Everything went silent in reverence as he did. And moments later, any gallaghers in the area would respond, sending the code back, like they were trained to.

I smiled at the bird now and whistled my father's favorite melody. The bird echoed immediately and then flew off, soaring further into the trees.

I crawl under the gate and stand up. Suddenly, I hear a buzzing sound. I walk a little bit closer to the fence. I gasp. It's been turned on. Grant! I hurry back to the stretched out section of the fence. If the gallagher is still there….

I quickly whistle a shrill three note song. A high note then a low note, and then another high one. S.O.S. I pause and send the code again. S.O.S.

My father had told us the emergency signal. It was also used during the rebellion, a short signal meaning '_help.'_ When we began to hunt by ourselves, we changed the meaning slightly. The loose interpretation was _'danger.'_ We use it for times like this, when it isn't safe to leave the woods.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the gallagher relay my message. Grant would be careful.

But I let my guard down too soon.

I feel thick fingers wrap around my arm and turn me around. A Peacekeeper. He is dressed in his uniform, an all white armored coverall. He peers down at me.

"What are you doing?" the man demands, gripping my arm tighter.

I stand still and look at him, my indifferent poker face sliding into place. It is a look I have perfected over time. My emotions only show when I want them to. You never know who could be listening or watching you, especially on Reaping day. I open my mouth to respond, but I am too slow.

"This area is off limits. No one is allowed to pass through the woods, or go near the fence."

I search my brain quickly for an excuse, a reasonable explanation. I sense movement out of the corner of my eye. A small animal. There's a little kitten sitting under the bush in front of me and behind the Peacekeeper. There it is. My way out.

"I'm looking for my sister's cat" I say. "It's gone missing."

He looks at me suspiciously. "A cat?" Yes. A cat. My nonexistent cat named… Suzie.

"Yes, a kitten. Um... Suzie. I need to find her."

I turn to "look" for the cat, stealing the opportunity to send another whistle into the woods. Three high notes. Code for: There is a Peacekeeper out here, keep your butt out of sight and don't do anything stupid. Okay, well that's a loose interpretation, but it works.

I whistle for the third time, and hear a faint response from the gallagher. The bird is father away. Good. I glance at the Peacekeeper. The tall, imposing man is watching my every move, but he doesn't look suspicious anymore. No, now he is just bored, ready to head back to his job.

The kitten slinks out from under the bush at the third whistle and begins to claw at a dangling leaf. I kneel down next to it and try not to scare my ticket to escape.

"There you are, Suzie." I pick the animal up and show the guard. He nods impatiently and gestures for me to continue on my way. I don't argue. Instead, I quickly head back to my home with the small quaking kitten in my hands.


	2. Chapter 2

"A kitten!" Lizzie's face lights up as she takes the poor animal from me. She's wearing one of my old dresses, the dress I wore to the Reaping when I was her age. It's her first year, but her name is only in once. I wouldn't let her enter in more times.

"Thank you, Cammie!" She begins to play with the kitty, only looking up one more time. "What's her name? Did you name her?"

I let out a small laugh. "Yeah, accidentally. Her name is Suzie. But you can change it if you want."

She shakes her head. "No. I like Suzie."

Suzie crawls into her lap, immediately warming to her. I leave them alone and hurry to change for the Reaping.

-:-:-:-

We walk into the square together, holding hands. I stand by Liz as we sign in and get a blood sample taken. After we are signed in, I kneel in front of her.

"Okay, Lizzie, you'll be fine. Just go stand by the other girls your age, okay?" I squeeze her hands comfortingly, feeling her hands tremble beneath mine, and then I point her in the right direction.

Suddenly I see Grant in my peripheral vision, trying to subtly get my attention. I head towards him as quickly as I can without drawing unwanted interest to myself.

"What happened? Are you okay? I heard the Gallagher." He gazes at me, a worried look in his eyes.

"I'm fine. Right after I got through the fence, it turned on. That's when I sent the first signal. And then a Peacekeeper caught me."

Grant's face whitens. "He caught you by the fence?"

"It's okay. I saw a cat behind him and made up some story about how Lizzie's cat 'Suzie' went missing. So, long story short, I was let go, and Liz now has a new pet." I frown. "Wait, how did you get out if the fence was turned on?"

"I climbed a tree and jumped over it."

I open my mouth to answer, but then notice that everyone is gathering in their age groups. We are among the last to join the crowd as we separate and go to our places.

I stare at the platform in front of me, at the large clear containers holding all of our names, knowing that far too many have mine written across them. The containers are sitting on the temporary stage, high up on a pedestal. One glass ball for the boys, and one for the girls.

Three chairs are placed on the stage also, on the opposite side. The Mayor is in one, the large spotlights gleaming on his shiny bald head. Effie Trinket, the escort for District 12, is sitting primly in the other. She looks out of place among the dreary grey-ness that surrounds her. Her hair is bright pink, perfectly matching her sparkly nails, and her gaudy suit. She's whispering to the Mayor as they point worriedly to the third seat.

The clock chimes twice, as it is now two o'clock, and the mayor steps up to the podium that's sitting in center stage. He reads the same paper every year, the story telling how a continent once called North America became Panem. Every one of us knows the drill, can quote the words from memory. But they aren't the truth.

Mayor Undersee mentions the natural disasters that destroyed the land, leaving a dead continent. He tells of the horrible war that was fought over what was left. How Panem was created afterwards, a glorious country with 13 districts and a Capitol, solving all the problems we'd had before. He speaks of how the Dark Days occurred, when the districts fought against the Capitol. The Capitol regained control and destroyed the 13th District as an example. We were handed a Treaty of Treason, and forced to participate in the Gallathorne Games, a way to keep control and remind everyone what will happen if you rebel.

The mayor lists the details of the Gallathorne Games. Each year, one boy and one girl from each district shall compete in an arena and fight to the death, until one victor is left.

It is a sport invented to mock us. To torture us. To remind us that we are under their complete control. We are forced to treat is as a happy celebration, an anniversary. The Capitol celebrates the event.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," he drones on.

He continues by listing the victors we have had over the past 73 games. We only have two, and one died years ago.

Joe Solomon.

The moment his name is mentioned he walks onto the stage and sits in his chair, ignoring the looks he receives from Effie. He's one of the few who can get away with it. Effie huffs in frustration and stands, teetering over to the podium once the mayor has finished.

"Happy Gallathorne Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor," she chirps happily. "Ladies first!"

She walks as steadily as she can on her 6 inch heels and heads to the glass bowls. Effie sticks her hand in the large bowl and moves it around dramatically, adding to the tension in the room as everyone takes in a breath. She finally picks out a slip and holds it up in the air victoriously. She parades back to the microphone stand and opens the paper. I have just enough time to fervently hope, wish, and pray that it's not me before she opens it. And reads the name aloud.

"Elizabeth Everdeen!"

It wasn't me.

-:-:-:-

I remember a time when I was younger, hunting with my father. I had climbed up a large oak tree and sat there, waiting for a deer to pass my hiding spot. I had waited so long that I fell asleep. I woke up mid-air, falling to the hard ground. When I landed, flat on my back, it felt as if someone had stolen the air from my lungs. I didn't move for a long time, just concentrating on breathing, moving, reacting.

I find myself feeling the same way now. Like there's no air to be found anywhere. I stand there, frozen in one position, as my mind replays the moment over and over again.

"_Elizabeth Everdeen!"_

"_Elizabeth Everdeen!"_

"_Elizabeth Everdeen!"_

It echoes through me. My mind races. This can't be right! She only had her name in once. Only once! I had taken every precaution possible. The odds had been on her side, in her favor. But, in the end, none of that made any difference.

I pay attention once again and hear whispers rumbling through the crowd. It has happened before. It isn't fair for a 12 year old to be chosen. But yet, no one ever volunteers for the 12 year olds. That's just how it is.

The crowd slowly parts, and I see Lizzie. She's standing still, frozen just as I was. Her pale skin is even more pronounced, her legs stiff as she walks as slowly as possible up to the platform. She passes me without a glance.

"No," I whisper at first, but my voice gets louder. "NO, Lizzie!" the crowd parts as I run towards her. I see Peacekeepers heading towards me, and run even faster. "LIZZIE!" The Peacekeepers surround us just as I grab Liz. They reach for me and begin to pull me away, separating us. "I volunteer!" I yell. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Everyone gasps in surprise as my words sink in. No one is sure what to do. We don't have volunteers in this district. The Career districts do, like District 1 and 2, where the Games are a special honor. But not here. Here, the idea of volunteering is ancient and unused. A rarity.

"Wonderful!" Effie Trinket clasps her hands together excitedly. "But, there are protocols, and…um…we are supposed to-"

"What's the point?" the mayor interrupts tiredly. He looks at me, almost sadly. We don't know each other personally, other then the strawberries I occasionally bring him. That's all. I am the girl with the berries, the child who received the Medal of Valor for her father's death. Nothing more.

Lizzie is yelling, her little voice cracking as she shrieks denials. "No! No!" she screams over and over.

I steel myself and move away, not wanting to appear weak and emotional to all the other tributes watching the live feed. I sense someone walking up behind me, and turn to see Grant. He lifts Liz up, holding her steadily as she pummels her fists against his back. "I've got her," he whispers, his voice breaking off at the end. I nod slowly, then turn and walk up the stairs onto the stage.

"That's the spirit of the Games!" Effie exclaims. She smiles brightly. Her district is finally having a bit of drama, excitement. "What's your name, dear?"

"Cammie," I mumble.

"Come on, speak up now! Full name, please!"

"Cameron Everdeen." I keep a placid expression on my face.

"Well, I bet that was your sister! Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Allright! Let's give a big round of applause to our first tribute!" She poses dramatically, her hands held up beside her head, and starts clapping.

But no one joins in. There is a strange silence that echoes throughout the square. No one will clap. Some, because they know me personally. Some knew my father or Lizzie, who is loved by everyone she meets. But everyone, no matter their reason stands in silence, which is a very loud disagreement in the districts. Disobedience.

And then they surprise me further. If you had asked me before, I would have said that my district doesn't particularly care about me. But not now. In an act of support, everyone in the square raised up the three middle fingers of their left hand, touches it to their mouth, and then points the fingers towards the stage. Towards me. It is an old gesture, one that is rarely used. It is _thank you._ It is _support_. It is a loving _goodbye, appreciation_.

Effie tries to keep the situation under her control. "Well! What an exciting day! But we aren't done yet! No, no! It is now time for the boys!" She is quicker this time, grabbing the first paper that touches her hand, and walking straight back to the mic. "Zachary Goode!"

…..

_Zach Goode?!_

Once again, I'm stunned. _Not him._

He makes his way forward and onto the stage. Thick dark hair falls in layers over his striking emerald green eyes. He doesn't have any trouble keeping his face expressionless.

Effie asks for volunteers, but there is no answer. Neither one of Zach's brothers step up to take his place. They are all close to him in age, and many of them are stronger. , but it doesn't matter. Even family members don't help on reaping day. I was the only exception.

Mayor Undersee takes the mic and begins to read the traditional Treaty of Treason, but I zone out before he finishes his first sentence.

Why did it have to be Zach? As guilty as I feel about the thought, it still stays. I can't get the scene out of my head, the look on his face as he defended Liz, the snap of his head when his mother slapped him. He doesn't deserve this. _But_, I think grimly, _no one else does either_. No matter who comes up here, no matter who gets reaped, none of them deserve it.

Mayor Undersee finished his long, sleep-inducing speech, and tells us to shake hands. Zach turns to me and grasps my hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

The anthem plays and we let go, turning to look towards the cameras once again. I comfort myself by thinking, _There will be twenty-four of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do…_

And then another unwanted thought pops into my head.

_Right, because the odds have been in your favor lately._


	3. Chapter 3

******I found out the other day that you can change how you view the stories on FF, so they aren't stretched across the entire page! On the bar above this AN, there are a few buttons. A bunch of them say Abc, and then there's one to the right that says "story spacing" when you make your mouse hover over it. If you click on that, and set it to 1/2, stories look MUCH better.. I like it a lot. :) So, for those of you who didn't know that (maybe it was just me? Idk), there ya go!**

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The music ends and we're surrounded by several Peacekeepers in white uniforms. They herd us towards the entrance of the Justice Building.

I look over at Zach as we head inside the imposing structure. He walks alongside me, a cocky smirk on his face. I stare at him. Does he really find this funny?

I feel myself being nudged to the left as we are pulled down separate halls. A door at the end of the hall opens, and they wait for me to walk inside. A loud _thump_ resonates through the room as they slam the thick door shut. I am to wait in here for an hour while they prepare for the trip, and collect visiting family and friends.

I look around the room listlessly. There is Capitol-made furniture and fancy upholstered chairs scattered all over the room, resting on expensive carpets.

I walk around, trying to make the time go by faster. I stop in front of a large framed picture hanging on the wall. It is a glossy photo of President Catherine Snow. A cold chill runs down my spine as I look at her eyes. They seem familiar somehow. I tilt my head as I look at the green orbs. I push the thought aside and decide that I'm imagining things.

But something still seems off about the picture. Suddenly it dawns on me. Her eyes are staring off to the left. I stare at it, frowning. I think back to the other framed pictures that I have seen before- a few in school and some during my tour of the Justice Building a few years ago. In every one of them, the person was staring straight at the camera. I frown thoughtfully.

I act on a hunch, moving to stand directly in front of the frame. I turn until my eyes are facing the same direction. I'm looking at a brick wall. I walk towards it, my mind racing. The exterior of the Justice Building is made of large grey stones. I think back to all the hallways we passed. Each of them was made of a stone or concrete. Except this wall. I run my fingers down the wall thoughtfully. I stop on a smooth brick near the bottom. The bricks on the wall are all rough and jagged. This one is smooth and flat. I pause for a moment, then push the brick in. My eyes widen in surprise as I hear a loud _click_. I turn to the left and stare at the dark opening in the wall, a doorway where there used to be bricks. Walking towards it hesitantly, I check my internal clock. There's still 40 minutes until the Peacekeepers come. My decision made, I step through the hole, and walk through the darkness.

I wait until my eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the passageway. The whole brick tunnel is covered in dust. I wander around endlessly, passing several tunnels that branch off, heading who knows where. Taking slow, even steps, I creep forward and notice some shuffled tracks that travel through the passageway. Following the old, faded footprints, I come to an abrupt stop as the footprints run straight into the wall of the tunnel.

I stare at the marks apprehensively. They run straight into the wall? I study the wall as closely as I can in the dark area. _There has to be a way to open up part of this wall, _I think. I run my fingers over the rough bricks, trying to find something, anything. My fingers catch on one brick in particular, one that sticks out from the wall just the slightest bit. I pull on the red slab as hard as I can. The brick slides out, leaving a deep hole in the wall. I lift the brick up and squint, trying to study it. The opposite side of the brick has been hollowed out. I slide my fingers through the cavity. Nothing.

I am just about to put the brick back in its place, when I notice something odd. There's a smooth sheet of paper attached to the inside of the brick. I peel it out. An old photograph. It's too dark in the tunnel to make out what the photo is of. The small picture goes into a large pocket in my dress. I slip the brick back into the wall and trace my steps back out of the tunnel and into the room. I pull the trapdoor closed behind me and head towards one of the plush looking chairs in the middle of the room.

I make it back just in time. The door opens only seconds after I sit in the chair. Liz enters first, with Mother following close behind. Lizzie walks over and sits on my lap, burying her head in my neck. Our mother sits on the chair beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I sit there in silence for a bit, enjoying this last moment with my family. But I know that our time is short.

"Lizzie, listen to me. This is important."

Liz sniffles, sits up, and nods her head silently. I turn to our mother, and check that she's paying attention before I begin.

"Liz, don't take any tesserae. None. You can make it just fine with your goat's milk and cheese. Trading some, and using the rest for yourselves. You will have the apothecary shop. And you'll have Grant. He will be able to get game and plants, but he will try to give them to you and take nothing in return. Don't let him. Give him some type of trade to help out his family." I continue with instructions. I give them details about trading in the Hob, tell Liz to keep at her studies. Then I turn to my mom. "Look, you have to be there for Lizzie. You HAVE to. You can't leave. Not this time." I steel myself, ignoring the hurt that appears in her eyes.

"I understand, it-"

"Listen to me! I won't be there this time. I won't be able to hunt, to keep us fed and dressed. You CAN'T fade out on Lizzie. I don't care what happens in the Games. I don't care what you see-"

She jerks back slightly, the hurt in her eyes transforming into anger. "I was _sick._ It was an _illness_. I couldn't help it! There are medicines now, ways to help!"

I nod slowly. "Good. Use them then. Keep yourself healthy."

"You too, Cammie," Lizzie looks at me anxiously. "You need to take care of yourself. Try to win! Please…" Her voice drops off.

"I'll do my best," Looking at her distraught face, I do my best to keep from promising. I don't have a chance to win, I know that. Half of the kids in the games are from Career districts, districts where they train children from birth to fight. They treat the Games as a fun privilege. And then there are kids from districts like mine. Districts where the children are half-starved and have never held a weapon in their life. My knowledge with the bow and hunting knives are an extreme rarity.

"Promise me. Promise me that you'll try to win!"

I find myself nodding. Our district hasn't seen a victor in years. We are always underestimated, usually for good reason. But I can use that to my advantage. "Okay. I promise, Lizzie. I promise, I'll try to win."

My mother steps towards me, her hand outstretched. I look down at her palm to see a golden pin. I stare at it in confusion. A _gold_ pin? Where did this come from?

"It was your father's," my mother whispers. My eyes snap up to hers. This is the first time she's spoken of Dad since the mining accident.

It was Dad's? It makes sense now. That's why we didn't sell it for food. I nod slowly and wrap my fingers around it. It's a small bird in flight with an arrow in it's beak.

Before I can take a closer look, or say anything more, I hear the footsteps coming down the hallway, towards the door. I grab them both in my arms, as quickly as I can. "Thank you , Mom. I love you Lizzie. I love you both!" And then the door is open, my family is being pulled through it, and I'm alone.

I take a deep breath and blink rapidly. Tears are nothing but a nuisance. There will be dozens of cameras outside when I am escorted onto the train. Tear stains will mark me as a weakling, an easy mark.

"Cammie," Grant rushes through the door and pulls me into his arms. I let out a shuddering breath and rest my forehead against his chest. "God, Cam… Okay," he pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes. "You have to get a bow. Knives, spears, they have plenty of those. But you've got to get a hold of a bow."

I think back to previous Games. "If they have a bow." There was a year where the only weapons supplied were spoons. Plastic spoons.

"You'll figure something out," Grant's confidence in me was comforting. We talk a few minutes more before the Peacekeepers return for the last time. Grant walks out the door after giving me one last hug.

I look straight ahead as the Peacekeepers walk me outside. I am silent the whole time. During the car ride, during the walk towards the train. I say nothing, even as the reporters shove their cameras into my face. They are tearing me from my family, leaving my family to starve, but they will not get a reaction from me. I won't give them the satisfaction.

I stand beside Zach as the reporters take their shots, fighting for the best angle. Finally, we are done. The train doors slide shut behind us. I am very grateful for the increased distance between me and the reporters, less so because of the space between me and my family. We steady ourselves as the train takes off with a breathtaking jolt.

The train is even more expensive than the visitor's room in the Justice Building. Effie takes me around the car on a tour, her bubbly voice explaining all of it to me. She takes me to my room. I have my own, complete with my own dressing room and bathroom. The bathrooms even have hot water.

I pull random clothes from the drawers and take my first shower ever. Afterwards, I pull on the clothing: dark green pants and a black shirt. It reminds me of something I would have worn at home, albeit much nicer. I head towards the door, about to leave before I catch a glimpse of something shining on the ground. I turn to look at my mother's dress, lying on the ground where I had dropped it earlier. Dad's pin sparkles up at me. I unpin it from the dress and study the pin once more. This time I recognize the bird: a gallagher.

I rub the pin with my thumb, thinking back to those days in the woods with my father. He would take me into the woods early in the morning, before any of the other miners were up for the day. We would spend hours there until he had to go mining, looking at plants and studying the animals. He taught me everything he knew about the woods, but he always seemed to have a special love for gallaghers.

I gaze down at the pin sadly. It reminds me so much of my father. I undo the clasp on the golden pin and attach it on my dark shirt.

There's a knock from outside. I walk over to the door and swing it open. Effie Trinket is standing on the other side, her fist poised to knock again.

"Oh, good!" she chirps. "You're ready! It's time for dinner!" She teeters away on her stilettos. I walk behind her, stopping as we get to the dining car. Joe Solomon and Zach are already sitting at the table, waiting for us. I sit in the empty seat beside Zach, just as the food is brought in. My jaw drops momentarily as my plate is set in front of me. I snap it shut again, while Effie glances at me disapprovingly. We eat as much as we can, knowing that there will be a severe lack of food in the arena.

As soon as dinner is over, Joe stands up from the table.

"Time to watch the recap." He glances at us for a moment, then walks into another compartment of the train.

We sit on the couches in the small room and get ready to watch the video. It begins to play, starting first with the anthem of Panem. I watch as the video shows each district's reaping. The Career districts are first. Each of the tributes stands out for one reason or another, most because of how large and strong they are. District 2 has a volunteer, a large, muscled boy who takes the place of a small 12 year old. The screen shows District 5's girl tribute, a sly, red-headed girl who reminds me of a fox. But the tribute that stands out the most to me is the 12 year old girl from District 11. She has beautiful coffee colored skin and dark eyes. Other than her dark complexion though, she reminds me so much of Lizzie. However, when she walks up onto the stage, there's a deafening silence. No volunteers. Just the sad reality that the small girl is on her own.

They show our district last. I watch the small televised version of me, running to Lizzie, guarding her from the Peacekeepers. The commentators talk about how sweet it is, how desperate I seemed to protect my sister. They stutter slightly when the crowd lifts their fingers in a salute. No one is sure how to respond. They get their comical banter back as the moment with the crowd ends and Zach walks onto the stage.

And then it ends, with one last comment about the great tributes of the 74th Gallathorne Games.

Effie stands up. "Well! That was wonderful! Such drama! This year, we might actually have a chance!"

-:-:-:-

I head back to my room after the video, trying to ignore the horrible attitude that the Capitol residents have towards the Games. It's all fun entertainment for them. It doesn't even matter that dozens of children die each year, just so the audience can laugh and have fun at our expense. I shake my head in disgust, masking my expression as I pass a few attendants on the train.

I walk into my room and shut the door behind me. The first thing I spot is my mother's dress, still lying on the floor where I had discarded it earlier. The sight of the dresses sparks my memory in a flash. The photo. I ruffle through the pockets until I find it. It is a faded picture of three people, two young women, and a toddler. I instantly recognize one of the women: my mother. Was I the small child? And who was the other girl? I flip the photo over. Something is written on the back. I squint at the faded handwriting, finally making something out:

_Abby, Rachel, and baby Cameron._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Chapter 4!  
**

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I sit back in shock. Abby? Who was Abby? Taking a closer look at the photograph, I notice something interesting. Abby's green eyes are identical to my mother's. I think back as far as I can. We didn't have any other family. Did we? My mother's parents disowned her after she told them about my father. They were absolutely furious that she was marrying a boy from the Seam.

Of course, my mother never told me any of this. Everything I knew about my family, I had learned from my Dad while we were hunting. He told me that they died before I was born. They never talked to Mom after she married Dad, not even when they were on their deathbeds.

I flop back onto my bed and hold the picture up to the light. The similarities between this 'Abby' and my mom are uncanny. They have identical green eyes. The structure of their faces is the same. Granted, there are differences. However they may be related, they aren't identical twins. But now, there is no doubt in my mind. They're definitely family, related somehow.

I spend the next few hours lying there, analyzing the picture. But there aren't any answers to the hundreds of questions fighting for attention in my mind. There's no one to ask, no place find an explanation. Eventually, I tire of the endless circles, and feel myself fading. I slip under the covers and fall asleep.

-:-:-:-

I sleep in as long as I can. It is a rare privilege, an opportunity that I never get. I wake up at eight, three hours longer than I normally sleep. I take a shower and quickly throw on another outfit that I find in the room. Today we will arrive in the Capitol.

Zach and Effie are already sitting at the table when I walk in. I look around for Joe Solomon, but he is nowhere to be found. One look at Effie tells me she is disquieted, presumably because of Joe's absence.

We sit through a relatively quiet breakfast. Relatively, because nothing involving Effie is ever completely silent. She lasts an impressive 2 minutes and 13 seconds before she breaks, and begins to chatter about the special tables that they bought this year.

Joe walks in, just as she is describing to us the finely detailed chairs the Capitol has made. He sits down across from me and Zach.

"Well!" Effie huffs at him, finally taking a breath. "It's about time!" She leaves the room after giving a small lecture about people's opinions, manners, and the importance of being on time.

Zach looks up once Effie has left. "So, when do we start?"

Joe stares back. "Most of you aren't in such a hurry." His speech is relaxed and unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world. Unlike us.

"You're supposed to give us advice. Mentor us." I look back and forth between the two, watching the small battle of wills.

Joe sits back comfortably. "Advice. Well, we'll start with getting people to like you."

I blink in surprise.

"You're going to find yourself in the middle of a huge arena, between dozens of other kids your age trying to kill you. It will be freezing cold at night, almost unbearably hot in the afternoon, and you're going to be hungry. You'll be wishing you had water, a weapon, medicine, maybe. And the only way to get any of that is by having lots of sponsors. Rich sponsors. People will sponsor their favorite tributes, kids that they like. So you have to make them like you.

What can you do? Do you have any special skills?" Joe stares at both of us, but continues before we can answer. A rhetorical question. "You're going to have to start paying attention. Watch your surroundings. Study your opponents, and search for weaknesses. Nine times out of ten, brains beat brawn. You're going to need to think fast, be light on your feet. Trust your instincts."

He scoots his chair back, stands up, and heads towards the door, stopping right before the entryway. "You want life-saving advice? Notice things." He stares at us, as if that one little phrase is the answer to all of our problems.

And then he's gone.

We sit quietly. The silence doesn't bother me, never has. It's somewhat comforting after being around Effie. I stand slowly and walk over to the window. Zach follows soon after, making it just in time to see the Capitol come into view. Although we are still far from it, I am already stunned by the grandeur. Even from this distance, you can tell that the Capitol enormous. Then the view outside goes dark. We have entered the tunnel that leads into the Capitol. The dim blackness reminds me of the mines, the awful underground rooms. I suppress a shudder.

It is dark for a minute more, and then we get our first real view. It is as Effie has frequently described it, excessive and overwhelming. Everywhere I look, I see shiny, gleaming structures, and brightly decorated buildings. There are colors splashed everywhere; Nothing has been left plain. The whole city has its own air, a feeling of invincibility and...perfection. It's _too_ perfect. The vast difference between this imposing city and the district we left is astonishing.

The train slows, pulling into the station.

And then they appear. Crowds of people, each one dressed in odd fashions, much like Effie's. Their outfits, shoes, and even their _skin_ are dazzling colors in bright hues. But as pretty as the colors are, it's too much. Overdone.

They've all gathered around the train station, getting as close as they can. They scream as they see our faces, shrieking in excitement. I back away from the window, uncomfortable with the gazes. Zach stays in front of the glass, a smirk on his face. It seems to only appear in public, a mask he pulls on in front of people. I stare at him pensively, trying to figure him out. He's a mystery, I decide. That much is certain.

Zach turns around and sees me watching him. He doesn't attempt to defend himself. There's no need to. The crowd outside is most likely the only way to win. But even so, he doesn't smile at them. Doesn't wave. He just looks at them, cocky smirk and all.

-:-:-:-

We are guided off the train and prodded into a large metal building.

"All right!" Effie clasps her hands together. "You will be taken to the Remake Center now to meet your stylists and be prepared for the opening ceremonies. Act polite, and for heaven's sake, do not resist anything they do to you!"

The way she phrases her instructions makes me pause. Anything they will _do_ to me?

I find out what she means minutes later. I am left alone in a circular white room. The room is empty, aside from a table, a large mirror, and two couches that face each other. A door opens up in the wall a moment later, letting in three bright balls of color. I watch as the door closes again, melting back into the wall. You cannot tell that it's there.

My attention flies to the bizarrely dressed characters standing in front of me. Two women and a man. My prep team.

"Hello!" One of the women chirps. Her bright smile fades slowly as they begin to circle me. Her skin has been dyed a pale lavender that perfectly matches her vibrant purple hair. "OOooooohhhh."

The purple woman stops in front of me. "I'm Venia! And this is Flavius," she gestures to the skinny man with orange curly hair, "and Octavia!"

Octavia is an odd looking person. She has aqua blue hair, contrasting green skin, and shiny golden tattoos all over her.

Flavius makes a _tsk_-ing noise as he finishes circling me, pursing his purple lips. "So much work to do!" He gestures wildly with his hands.

I wonder momentarily if I should be insulted, but the idea of looking different than my prep team doesn't seem bad at all.

Over the next hour, I am put through extreme torture. Any hair on my body is completely removed. I am completely covered in lotions and perfumes. The only part of me left untouched is my braided hair.

Finally, I am left alone once again. But only for a moment. I sit down on a couch just before the hidden door slides open once again, and my stylist comes in.

She is gorgeous, with dark black hair that falls a little past her shoulders and bright blue eyes. And that's it. The most surprising aspect of my stylist is how beautifully plain she is. Her skin is a natural color, her clothes are simple, she is tattoo free, and her hair doesn't look like it's had a head-on collision with a rainbow. And she is, without a doubt, the prettiest woman in the capitol.

"Hello, I'm Macey," she says warmly.

I nod. "Cammie."

Macey takes a seat on the couch facing mine. "My partner, Portia, is Zach's stylist. We've been working for a while on ideas for your opening ceremony outfits. Normally, the tradition is to use your district's industry in the costume. Sadly, other stylists haven't done a very good job in using coal."

I grimace, completely agreeing with her, as I think back on one particular year where the outfits were covered in little pieces of coal. And another Games, where the tributes wore nothing but headlamps and coal dust. I shudder.

"This year, however, we're going to shake things up a bit. Instead of decorating your outfits with coal...we're going to _burn_ the coal."

It is at this point that I'm questioning my stylist's sanity. Especially after her next comment.

"Cammie, I hope you aren't afraid of fire."

-:-:-:-

I stare at the girl in the mirror. She looks nothing like me.

I am wearing a black skintight jumpsuit made of a matte material, and black laced boots that reach my knees. My hair is braided around my head, a slight variation from my earlier braid.

"Cameron, the girl on fire." Macey states, her smile proud and somewhat evil. I stare at her blankly, then return my gaze to the mirror.

Zach comes into the room-a large area that connects both of our dressing rooms-with his stylist, Portia, following him. I sigh in relief as I see his outfit. It is identical to mine. He stands beside me as our stylists do some last touch-ups. We finish up, and then head down to the bottom floor of the Remake Center.

I look around at all of the other tributes standing by their chariots. Some of the costumes are hysterically awful. District One's tributes look like they've been smothered by Capitol-dyed animals. They are both covered in bright hot pink fur costumes. The District Six tributes have giant moons curving around their faces, and the tributes from District Eight are covered in scraps of pink and blue cloth. Aside from my doubts about the fire, there is no doubt in my mind. District Twelve has the most impressive stylists. The thought momentarily stuns me. District Twelve is the least-liked district, the district that everyone bets against every year. It is for this reason that brand new stylists are always assigned to our district, stylists who have no idea what they're doing. It's why we always look bad.

I turn to Macey. "Is this your first year as a stylist?"

She nods.

"So you were given District Twelve?" It isn't a question. I know that this is the truth.

Macey cocks her head. "No. I asked for District Twelve."

She continues talking before I have the chance to ask anything more. "All right. It's time. The ceremony is beginning." She holds up a torch-like stick, breaks off the end of it, and it's suddenly engulfed in flames. I sense her moving behind me and Zach, and prodding us into our silver chariot, pulled by black horses and made of a sleek looking metal. I hear a _whoosh_, but before I can turn around, the coal black horses are pulling us down the long street and towards the City Circle.

The crowds are roaring, screaming our names and raining roses, hats, and other random items down on us. I mimic Zach's movements, waving and smiling slightly at the crowds, hoping that somewhere in the hordes of people there will be a impressed future sponsor. I look up at the screens that are now showing our faces, slightly stunned by everything going on around me. I am even more shocked when I focus on the two tributes featured on the screens. Large flames shoot out behind us, shaped vaguely like large wings. They leave a shining trail behind us as we race towards the circle. I turn to look at Zach for the first time. He is dazzling, powerful, the flames leaving mysterious shadows that dance across his face.

Suddenly, he moves and I feel his hand close, almost desperately, around mine. I don't protest. Then he shifts and raises our hands, still clasped, above our heads. The motion immediately makes us stand taller, united. And it feels good.

The thought stops me, as our chariot rolls to a halt. A feeling of dread courses through my body. This can't be happening, whatever '_this_' is. Zach is my enemy. He is from my district, yes, but he is also one of 22 others that will be fighting against me in the arena.

The pep talk doesn't work. I can tell. So I ignore the feelings for now, choosing to push them aside instead.

The crowd gets quieter as President Catherine Snow steps up to the podium, one story above us. Her stern gaze silences the people completely as she begins to talk. She gives the traditional speech, a welcome, and an introduction of all that is to come. I ignore all of it.

And then it's over. The horses pull us around to the back entrance of the City Circle and make their way back to the Training Center.

I stumble off of the chariot and wait not-so-patiently as our flames are extinguished. Zach stops, making me realize that our hands are still entwined.

"That was...nerve-wracking," he mutters.

"I'm sure no one noticed. You looked anything but nervous." I say.

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," there is a small trace of a smile on Zach's face.

And it takes my breath away.

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**A/N: Hope you guys like it! Review and let me know ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! I had serious writer's block with this chapter... Couldn't decide how to end it.. I hope you guys are happy with how I've done this...**

**Also, I just added a one-shot that I wrote this week... It's called 'When He Smiles' and it's a one-shot about the story behind Zach's smirk. It's a completely different style of writing, and I really hope you guys will check it out and let me know what you think! ****I'm also planning on writing similar stories for the rest of the GG characters... Bex is next ;)**  


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I run through the Capitol streets, slipping between houses and apartments. The bright colors of the buildings still glow and pop out at me, even in the dim lighting from the moon. I run my fingers down the walls of the two buildings, feeling the rough brick. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small fact registers. The houses I am running between are made of some sort of smooth material- stone or metal, maybe. But I ignore it.

Low sounds echo and bounce around me. I run faster, as quickly as I can through the thick fog.

Suddenly, someone steps out in front of me. I barely stop in time and take a few steps back, gasping as I look into two eyes. Two familiar green eyes. Catherine Snow. She stands as still as a statue, her cold calculating eyes sweeping over me. My feet start moving of their own volition, turning and running as far away as they can. I run softly and swiftly back onto a street, as light on my feet as I am in the woods.

_Cameron._

The hissed whisper reaches me. I stop running, no longer able to see anything around me.

And then the fog seems to solidify as people step out of the grey cloud and stare at me. Dread fills me as quickly as recognition does. They are tributes from previous Gallathorne Games.

_Cameron…._

The whispers emanate from somewhere in the group of people. The dead tributes gaze at me darkly, warning in their eyes. I turn and run again, escaping from the stares and blending as only I can.

Then a different whispered yell splits through the silent night air.

"Cammie! Cammie, stop!"

Someone grabs me from behind. It's too shadowy here to see their face. I instantly, instinctively, react, shoving my elbow back into my attacker. But I'm not prepared for the person's next move. I feel one arm wrap around my waist, and the other hand cupping my face.

"Cammie, wake up!"

My eyes snap open as I begin to gasp, suddenly unable to breathe. I take in a few deep shuddering breaths and look into Zach's worried gaze.

"Zach?" seems to be the only coherent word my muddled brain can manage. I look around, still dazed and confused. We are standing in a dark brick passageway, much like the one I found in the Justice building back in District Twelve. "Wha-Where?" I finally just shut my mouth and lean into him.

"You were screaming," Zach begins to talk, his voice slightly muffled by my hair, "having a nightmare. When I walked over to your room, the door was open, and you were heading down the hall. You opened a door in the bricks somehow, and then ran into this tunnel. I tried talking to you, but you just ran faster."

I lean back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "Thank you." Suddenly I feel awkward. I'm currently standing in a dark tunnel, with the boy who saved my life. The same boy that I am fighting attraction to. And the exact same boy that is going to have to kill me in the arena. I take a step back, and ignore the cold, empty feeling, the one that matches the look now appearing in his eyes.

And now the silence is discomfited. We stand there, shifting silently, neither one sure how to fix the uncomfortable situation I just caused.

"Um… Thank you. I- ….See you in the morning." I slip past him and practically sprint back to my room. And then stop short. I was sleepwalking. How in the world did I get in here? And how do I get out?

Zach comes up behind me. "We came in over here somehow." He gestures to the wall I'm facing. I find the tell-tale brick quickly, slide open the door, and leave without looking back. No matter how much I want to.

I flop onto my large mattress once my door is closed. There's another secret tunnel? I make a mental note to revisit the tunnel once I'm alone later.

Then I allow myself to obsess over what had happened the past half hour.

Dozens of questions flood into my brain. What is going on? Do I actually like him? Does he feel the same way? What happens when we have to kill each other? I sigh in frustration, knowing the answers to all of them. It doesn't matter how I think I may feel. He was just being kind, I tell myself. Looking for weaknesses. I've seen this happen before, with a scheming boy tribute and a naïve girl tribute. It makes for great sponsors, until the boy turns on her. The nervous, jittery feeling I get is only nerves. That's all.

-:-:-:-

The actual Training Center is the very bottom floor, in the basement of the building. I walk in beside Zach, looking around as we enter the large war zone. Everything here is made of a shiny silver metal, giving off a cold, harsh feel. We stand in a group with the other tributes as a gold-haired woman with crimson eyes explains what we are to do. Her robotic red eyes sweep over us, cold and calculating; I avoid looking at her.

The group breaks up, with the Careers immediately heading over to the weapons. I look around for a moment until I spot the edible plants station.

Zach turns to look at me. "Where do you want to go first?"

This surprises me. Are we going to continue playing this charade? There's no way this can turn out well, I tell myself. But then I catch the sincere look in his eyes.

"How about the plants?" I gesture to the station.

We are the only ones working with the plants. I teach Zach the different plants: edible and poisonous.

"Hey," Zach touches my arm. I turn to see him holding up a strange looking plant with round bulbs. "What's this one?"

I study it. "Katniss."

He nods thoughtfully.

We finish up at the plants station soon after. My eyes widen in shock as I feel Zach grab my hand and pull me towards the knot tying station. I sit near Zach and work on my knot skills, practically obsessing about our situation. Finally, I lose it.

"Why are we doing this?" I whisper, immediately regretting it.

Zach turns his head to face me. "What?"

"Um," I stumble over my words, trying to backtrack. "I just-I'm having trouble with this knot," I lie.

He frowns in concentration. "Me too."

The station trainer comes over and gives us pointers. I nod stupidly, pretending to get the rope knotted into a tangle.

I pick the next station: camouflage.

"You should be good at this. All those cakes you've done," I say as we walk over.

Zach tenses up. I notice and frown, wondering why.

We work on camouflaging for a while. It's not my best skill, but I'm not horrible. I turn to look at Zach's work and suppress a laugh. It's a mess. Zach was trying to paint a disguise onto his arm. Instead, there are bright colors splashed all over his arm, looking more like a child's artwork than anything else. This is surprising. Zach's family has worked at the bakery his whole life. How was he that bad?

I stare at him. "Didn't you do the iced cakes at the bakery?"

He hesitates and ends up settling for a shrug. "Not really. The ones I did had to be thrown out. They weren't fit for selling."

I nod thoughtfully, then push it out of my mind.

Our routine stays the same for the next three days in the Training Center. I can tell that the other tributes are baffled by our friendless. But I can't fault them; I am just as confused. But no matter how many times I tell myself that Zachary is dangerous, I can't help but enjoy it anyway.

Whereas every other tribute spends the whole training period alone—with the exception of the Careers, who do everything together—Zach and I never leave each other's side. It quickly turns into an easy friendship. Sometimes, I find myself forgetting that I will soon be in the Gallathorne Games arena, fighting to save my life.

-:-:-:-

I stare at the doors in front of me. They've just called my name, bidding me to enter into my private session with the Gamemakers. I take a deep breath and walk into the large gym. It looks much like the Training Center we've been practicing in, except for one detail: a large balcony overlooking the room. This is where the Gamemakers sit in their expensive chairs and eat their expensive food.

One of the Gamemakers acknowledges me with a bored nod. The rest are busy laughing hysterically, way too drunk to be of any use to anyone.

I walk over to the large wall of weapons on the opposite side of the gym. There are tons of different weapons, some I've never seen. A shiny silver bow catches my eyes, right as I am despairing of ever finding one. My hands slide smoothly over the sleek curve of the bow. I pick up an arrow, and then hesitate. I grab up two more arrows in a spur-of-the-moment decision. Positioning the three arrows, I pull back on the bow and send them all flying. The arrows stick into the target dummy's heart with a sickening _thunk_. A perfect shot. I smile proudly, positive that I have done something different, something new.

I glance at the Gamemakers and do a double take. The majority of the pompous judges aren't every looking in my direction. Instead, they are exclaiming excitedly about some roasted pig that has just been brought out. Only one Gamemaker is looking at me, an unimpressed expression on his face. _Bored_.

Suddenly angry, I grab up every arrow I can find and begin to shoot everything around me. Arrows fly in every direction: Into the target dummies, the large lights hanging from the ceiling, the bulls-eyes propped up 50 feet away. A few arrows find their way into the wall above the balcony, mere feet away from the Gamemakers. One smacks into a apple in the roast pig's mouth, pinning it to the wall.

I have everyone's attention now.

I finish up the last of the arrows, shooting them at random places in the walls.

_CODE BLACK. CODE BLACK. CODE BLACK._

I jerk in surprise. Did I do that? I look around the room at all the arrows, checking to see where each landed. There it is. One of my arrows landed in a small square on the wall, one I wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the arrow sticking out of it. A security screen.

The Gamemakers are fully awake now, their expressions ranging from surprise to fury. I think for a moment, wondering what to do next, and opt for a confident reply, ignoring the alarm piercing the air.

"Cameron Everdeen. District Twelve." I hold my chin high and dismiss myself.

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**A/N: Please leave me a review and let me know what you're thinking! Thanks peoples!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Finally updating! I'm soo sorry guys! But! I DO have a good reason! (For those of you who _really_ don't care, you can skip the next paragraph :)**

**I found out two weeks ago that I can't go to graduation unless I finish an entire semester's worth of work by April 1st... (I'm homeschooled.. I'd still get a diploma, but I wouldn't be able to graduate with my class, as there is a due date that mu tests have to be sent in by) So, I've been working from 8:30 to 6:30 every single day, Saturdays and Sundays included! This is the first time this week that I've had enough time to work on my story! Once again, SOOO sorry! (This chapter is slightly shorter than normal for these reasons. {2076 words without the AN..I was hoping to reach 4+} Originally, I was going to extend the chapter until after the interviews.. but that will have to wait until chapter 7!)**

**After April 1st, my updating should go back to the normal schedule...what little schedule I had before anyways :)**

**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my one-shot _When He Smiles_! You guys are amazing! If you haven't read it yet, please take a look! It's the story behind Zach's smirk.. (Maybe he never smiles for a reason...?)**

**As always, my stories look best when you are reading them with your page set at 1/2 view! Thanks for reading!**

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I march down the hall defiantly, studiously ignoring the odd looks I get from the Capitol staff members and Avoxes. A frustrated sigh escapes as I step into the elevator. The thick glass box does little to make my anger dissipate. I stare at the tiny little opaque buttons that cover an entire wall in complete confusion. I finally spot a '12' button and press it, putting as much force as I can into the movement.

I begin to fume silently as the untrustworthy glass box begins its ascent to the top floor. How dare they! They bring us up here, force us to train for a fight to the death, and then don't even give us a chance? My anger turns to worry as I think of what I've done. I shot arrows at the Gamemakers. I set off a Code Black(whatever that is…nothing good though.) The arena looked like a pin cushion once I was done with it. But I don't regret what I've done.

I calm down as the rational part of my mind takes over. What can they do? Arrest me? (They still need a girl tribute for District 12.) Punish me? (Aren't I being punished already?) Take away my dessert? I think of how Effie will respond, and the last idea actually seems possible.

My only concern now is for my family. But they can't hurt my family either. The family is always brought in later in the Games to be interviewed.

The Capitol can do nothing at this point but give me a low score. A tribute's score ranges from one to twelve-one being the worst, and twelve being unattainably high. No tribute in the history of the Gallathorne Games has ever gotten a twelve. I had been hoping for at least an eight, but a low score doesn't bother me. Some tributes get lower scores purposely in the hopes that they will be left alone once the Games begin.

The elevator slows to a stop. _Ding_. The doors slide open and I step out onto our floor. Everyone else is already at the dinner table, waiting for my arrival. The Avoxes begin to serve the food as I slide into my seat. I lower my gaze to the plate in front of me, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"So," Joe wastes no time, "How were your private sessions with the Gamemakers?" He aims the question towards both of us. I glance towards Zach quickly, letting him field this one.

Zach shrugs. "It was fine."

Joe raises an eyebrow. "Define fine."

"I threw a bunch of weights around, smashed some equipment. Decapitated a dummy. You know, the usual."

Joe nods. "Cammie?"

"Um.." I hesitate, unsure of how to describe my session. I decide to just throw it out there. "I shot three arrows at once. And then shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."

Complete silence.

"And then I caused a Code Black."

The blessed silence lasts only a moment more before it is disrupted by Effie.

"You _WHAT?!"_

I tune her out as she begins a lecture on God knows what, and focus on Joe's masked expression. He stares down at the silverware by his plate, murmuring something. I study his face and read his lips. "_–like her father."_

Zach stands up before I can fully understand what Joe whispered. He catches my attention and smirks. "Good job, Cammie. It's about time someone brought them down a notch." Then he exits the room.

"How did they react?" Joe studies me. He almost seems to be fighting a smile.

"I don't know. I dismissed myself and left right after."

If I have any doubts about what I had done, they are all dispelled by the look of horror on Effie's face. Completely worth it.

-:-:-:-

I plop down on the oddly shaped couch, waiting while everyone else walks into the room. They take their seats, Zach and Macey sitting beside me.

The wall across from me seems to flicker, and then the whole thing turns into a giant screen. A large face suddenly appears, grinning madly. I blink in surprise as I stare at the man. Casear Flickerman, the Gallathorne Games host. His face looks almost surgically altered, his hair an odd shade of blue.

Caesar begins his spiel, reciting a long speech about the history and meaning behind private sessions. I ignore it. Then District One's symbol appears in the top right corner. Caesar describes each tribute and their scores, one by one. The tributes from District Two appear on the screen. They have identical sneers on their face, and both earn a score of ten. Each of the Careers gets a similar score, to no one's surprise, either a nine or a ten.

I sit silently during the rest of the video, not moving until Zach's picture appears right under our District's logo. Caesar hesitates for a moment as he looks down to his flashcards.

"District 12," he announces. "Zachary Goode, with a score of…" Caesar pauses dramatically, "12."

There is silence. But only for a moment. Everyone lets out varying expressions of surprise and astonishment seconds later, congratulating Zach on his score.

I turn to look at Zach, completely stunned. "I thought you said you just threw around a few weights?!"

The look on his face stops me. He is completely calm. Not at all surprised by his unbelievably high score. I sit back in my seat, seeing that he isn't going to answer me, and decide to pull it out of him later.

My picture comes up next. I let out a small breath as I wait for my low score to come up.

"Cameron Everdeen, with a score of…" another pause, just long enough to capture everyone's attention. "12."

This time there are no comments from the peanut gallery.

I sit back in my seat, stunned. My mouth opens and closes but no words come to mind. I must look like a fish with my mouth gaping open. The unexpected thought causes a small laugh to escape. I turn to Joe

"But… but I _shot an arrow at them!_ I caused a 'Code Black!'" I let my fingers hang in the air as visible quotation marks, seeing as I have no idea what a Code Black actually is. The look on Joe's face tells me nothing good.

And when he speaks, there is no doubt in his voice, or in my mind. "They are trying to turn you into a target."

He's right, I realize. If a tribute gets a 10 or 11, they are good. Extremely good. But a 12? It has never been done before. No tribute has ever achieved it. Except me and Zach. Well, mainly Zach. I only got the high score because I managed to anger a majority of the most powerful influences in the Gallagher Games.

But either way, the Careers will be after me now. There's no avoiding that.

-:-:-:-

I stare up at the ceiling. The smooth, white ceiling. Sleep is avoiding me. My brain is overrun with dozens of thoughts that won't let me rest, no matter how hard I try. The picture of my mom, Zach's high score, Joe mumbling at the table. I concentrate on that one thought for a moment, thinking back to what he had said.

_"-like her father."_

I agonize over that one for a while. Joe knew my father?

The idea wouldn't be very hard to believe, except for one thing: Joe is from the Victor's Village, and my father lived in the Seam… The two areas don't mix much, I muse.

Suddenly a thought dawns on me, and I quietly groan at my own stupidity. Joe hasn't lived in the Victor's Village his whole life! Only after he won the Games… So there's a pretty good chance that Joe could have lived in the Seam also.

Not much is known about Joe's past, if anything. Of course, I would be the last to know if there was anything. I wasn't exactly told any gossip. My time was spent keeping my family fed.

I mull over this new idea, flipping it over in my mind, and thinking of all the angles. Endless questions fight for my attention. Had Joe and my father been friends? Did he know my mother? And how did the woman in the picture fit into all of this? If I was in the picture with them, why don't I remember her?

Finally, I sit up and shrug off the covers, accepting the loss of sleep. I leave my room, shutting the door behind me, trying to escape the unanswered questions.

I wander around aimlessly for a while, and find myself on a metal staircase heading straight up. The stairs end up on the roof.

I walk to the edge, lean on the metal fence, and stare dully at the party scene below. The streets of the Capitol are lit up in every color imaginable ('_Colorful'_ just seems to perfectly describe the entire city. No other word really works.) There's a muffled roar rising up from the streets, as each and every Capitol citizen celebrates the impending death of 23 people they've never met.

"Disgusting, isn't it." Zach's voice comes from right beside me.

I resist the immediate urge to jump in surprise. "Yeah…" I refrain from saying anything more. We're standing on the roof of a Capitol building. There's always someone listening.

"They can't hear us," he responds to my wary look. "The wind is too loud. They don't have mics up here anyway. Only cameras. And as long as you aren't facing them, they can't tell what's going on."

My eyes widen. How does he know these things?

"Joe told me," he answers my unasked question.

I nod slowly, then turn to him, feeling a rush of bravery and confidence now that no one is listening. "Why weren't you surprised at your score?"

He blinks at the new topic. "What?"

I stare at him, ignoring the fluttery feeling in my stomach as he stares right back. "Your score from the training session. Why weren't you surprised?"

I watch as his expression seems to close off, a wall being built between us.

I watch as his expression seems to close off, a wall being built between us. I waver slightly, wondering if I should back off or not. But there are too many questions, too many unknowns flying around my mind. So I wait.

He forces an uneasy laugh. "I was surprised." But I don't believe him.

"Zach," I whisper his name so quietly, it almost goes unheard. But Zach's eyes meet mine a second later. And I flash back to the last time he looked at me like that. When he willingly took a beating for me. For my family. So that we would have just enough food to live. Against my better judgement, my hand somehow finds the way to his. I boldly clasp it for a moment, just long enough to feel the slight tremor running through his strong hands. I pull back quickly after a moment, but he grabs on just in time to stop me.

"You really don't want to know." His voice is just as soft as mine was, warning me.

I think over it for a moment, looking at the small space between our toes, getting smaller as we slowly moved closer. Could it be that bad? And then I reconsider. Maybe I don't want to know. I shake my head slightly. No. I do. All of the deception, the secrets of the Capitol, they're overwhelming. But his answer would put one to rest.

My eyes meet his brilliant green ones once again, and I wait.

"My mother," Zach begins slowly, "is a very awful person."

I interrupt with what I hope is a comforting smile. "I know."

He shakes his head. "No….no, you don't. My mother isn't the woman from the bakery."

I look at him in confusion. "What?"

Zach takes a deep breath and breaks our gaze, seemingly gathering his courage. His pain filled emerald gaze meets mine once more. "My mother is Catherine Snow."

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**A/N: Yay! So, I a little nervous about this chapter.. Don't want Zach and Cammie to move too fast too soon...Considering they are supposed to kill each other and everything... Awkward :/ ...But it will all work out!  
**

**As always, reviews are loved! And constructive criticism is appreciated :) Thanks peoples!**

**-Ash**


	7. Chapter 7

**ATTENTION: EXTREMELY IMPORTANT A/N: I went back and completely rewrote the earlier chapters. I changed quite a few things, so everyone needs to go back and read those before you read these.. Think of it as 7 new chapters in one night!**

**I'd gotten a bunch of reviews saying that they were too close to the original Hunger Games, and to be honest, I agree. They weren't all that great.. However, the re-writes may not be all that fantastic either.. So, I'm going to leave it to you guys! Leave a review and let me know which way you liked it. If the majority likes it the old way, I can always redo them :)**

**So, to sum it all up, go back and reread before you go any further! Thanks peoples :) **

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_"My mother," Zach begins slowly, "is a very awful person."_

_I interrupt with what I hope is a comforting smile. "I know."_

_He shakes his head. "No….no, you don't. My mother isn't the woman from the bakery."_

_I look at him in confusion. "What?"_

_Zach takes a deep breath and breaks our gaze, seemingly gathering his courage. His pain filled emerald gaze meets mine once more. "My mother is Catherine Snow."_

It takes a moment for the knowledge to sink in. His mother is Catherine Snow? How is that even possible? I think back to District Twelve's Justice Building and the large painting of the president in my holding room. I remember the familiar green eyes in the painting. The same familiar green eyes that I find myself staring into now. I suddenly take an interest in Zach's face, searching his features. But any resemblance ends there.

The logical side of my brain tries to refute this information. It's not possible. Is it? I search my brain for the earliest memory I have of Zach. There aren't many. I didn't spend much time with my schoolmates.

And, surely someone would have noticed. The baker's family lives in the merchant section. They were well known. A young son suddenly pops out of the woodwork and no one pays any attention? Those bakers had been there for years. Hadn't they? Suddenly I find myself unsure about everything. It's amazing how much damage a little seed of doubt can cause.

I realize that I've been standing silently, staring through Zach at nothing. Zach is looking at me warily. I shake my head slowly and try to phrase a few questions.

"I don't understand. How is that possible? You've been living in District 12 for years…" I trail off, hoping he'll fill in the gaps. And there are a lot of them.

Zach runs his hand through his hair and exhales. He leans against the thick grey columns that line the edge of the roof, and slides down until he's sitting. I do the same, sitting directly across from him. We are separated by a few short inches.

"My mother didn't want anyone to know about me. Maybe she was ashamed? I don't know. But she kept me hidden, whatever her reasons."

"So you lived with her in the Capitol?" I ask softly.

Zach slowly shakes his head. "I lived in the Capitol. Not with her. I think." He sighs in frustration and drops his head. "I-I can't remember."

I raise an eyebrow, then frown in confusion. "You can't remember?"

Zach lifts his head and looks me straight on. "I woke up four years ago. No idea where I was or what was going on. The only thing I remembered was my name, Zachary Goode." He comes to the next conclusion right as I do. "And if Catherine Snow really is my mother, then Goode isn't even my real name-"

"-which means someone had to have messed with you. Planted a name in your head," I finish the thought for him. My mind frantically races to process this. He doesn't remember anything before the age of twelve? "If you don't remember anything, how do you know who your mother is?"

"I've started to remember some things. Slowly, and not a lot. But I'm positive that the baker's wife isn't my mother. I remember parts of the Capitol. Not many people from the Districts ever get to see the Capitol in person, so that has to mean something. And I remember my mother. But not much else." A frustrated look settles on Zach's face.

An unexpected thought pops into my head and I smother a laugh. "Is that why you can't do cakes?"

Zach blinks. "What?"

"The cakes at the bakery. During training, you said you can't ice cakes. Is that because you've only been doing it for four years?"

He shrugs. "I guess."

I think back to the private sessions. "Think that's why they gave you such a high score?"

"…Because I can't ice cakes?"

"No, because your mom is the president."

"I don't know…" Zach trails off, frowning.

I stare off into the distance. "But if she's your real mother, then why haven't I ever heard of the president having a son?"

Then an old memory starts to surface. "Wait…No, I have! Didn't he die when he was around ten?"

Zach nods. "Eleven. It was five years ago. The official story was that he got pneumonia."

I scoff. "They can rebuild bones and organs, and physically deform people, but they can't save their president's son from pneumonia?"

The ever-present smirk appears on his face. "Well, it fits anyway. The son died five years ago. Five years ago, I was eleven. And I don't remember anything before twelve."

"This-this is crazy."

There's suddenly a guarded look on Zach's face. He opens his mouth in defense, but I beat him to the punch.

"I don't mean it like that. I believe you. It's just a lot to process."

I sit back, stunned. As impossible as it had originally seemed, it was almost beginning to make sense. What had happened to make him forget his life? The possibilities are endless. It's not like his mother is a kind, gentle woman. No, his mother is an inhuman, heartless beast who has 23 innocent kids killed publicly every year. She has the entire Capitol brainwashed to celebrate the barbarous casualties. And those are only the deaths we know about. The woman has no conscience.

Could she have had a hand in Zach's lost memory? Possibly. I don't know much about memories, or minds. But with the things the Capitol scientists have invented, they could definitely come up with a way to take memories or wipe someone's mind clean.

I sigh, frustrated. There are so many unanswered questions. So many mysteries that I still haven't solved.

"What other mysteries are there?"

My eyes widen. I said that aloud? Apparently. I study Zach for a second, wondering if I can trust him. The ever present reminder is still nagging at me: _You will be fighting against each other in a few days. Do you really want an emotional connection with the boy who may have to kill you? Your enemy?_ But the emotional connection is already there, whether I want to admit it or not. And I don't mind admitting it. I like Zachary Goode. Besides, he just told me everything about himself(what little he could remember anyways.) The least I can do is tell him the same. Some of it anyway.

"I found a picture the other day, one that I've never seen before. It was taken about 14 years ago, I think."

"How can you tell?"

"I'm in it, and my sister Liz isn't. The picture is of me and my mom..." I trail off for a moment, thinking. "The picture is of me, my mother, and another woman I've never seen before. It said her name was Abby. And she looks just like my mom."

Zach waits for me to get to the point, eyebrow raised.

"My mom doesn't have any family, Zach. She hasn't for years. And she's an only child. No friends either. But the weirdest part is where I found it."

"Where?"

"In the Justice Building."

He doesn't answer. What can he say? There are no answers.

We stay on the roof for a while longer, enjoying the small modicum of privacy it gives us. The conversation turns to safer topics, which means we talk about me, seeing as he doesn't have any happy memories. Although the ones I have are few and far between.

I tell him about Suzie, then freeze. I look up at him slowly.

"Thank you, Zach."

He frowns. "For what?"

"For helping Lizzie." I see the realization dawn on him. "For standing up for her."

Zach is quiet for a moment. Just when I'm thinking about leaving, he answers, almost silently. "You're welcome."

-:-:-:-

I gaze at the curved wall in front of me. The entire surface is made of a mirrored glass, showing my reflection. Today is when we have our interviews. Which means yet one more day of painful prep, fancy dresses, and torturous attempts at making me look acceptable.

The door opens, and Macey walks into the round room, holding a black garment bag in one hand and a pair of black pumps in the other. Her first action is to hand me the shoes, which I put on obediently.

She doesn't say anything, merely smiles as she unzips the bag dramatically. Inside the protective cover is a black dress. It has a simple elegance to it, and I approve immediately. I slide the dress on and look into the large mirror.

The dress seems plain at first glance. It is a one-shouldered dress with a hem that rises higher in the front than in the back. A mullet dress. The hem of the dress is not straight; it is a jagged edge designed to emulate a flickering flame. The one shoulder strap is also designed this way.

As much as I appreciate the simplicity of the outfit, another glance at Macey confirms my mounting suspicion: There is more to this dress than meets the eye. She places a black band around my forehead.

"Put your hands to your hips," she says. "With an attitude!"

I hesitantly obey, striking the required pose with as much drama as I can summon. The reaction is instantaneous. Two parallel lines of golden light start from the bottom right of my dress and race their way diagonally upward in a wavy path. The beams trail across the dress, up through the shoulder, and down the back of the dress. The whole effect happens in less than three seconds. And then suddenly my dress is aflame. Not the whole outfit however. The flame is contained in the space between the two thin beams of light.

I watch myself in the mirror, and begin to twirl in a circle. I keep an eye on my reflection as I slowly spin. The flames leave a trail as I move, creating golden lines in the air around me that disappear after I become still again.

The headband erupts into flames also. But they aren't the harsh, fast flames on my dress. No, they are calmer, dancing softly around my head and giving the illusion of a tiara. My hair has been pulled up in an elaborate hairstyle on top of my head.

I stare at my reflection with surprise. I'm the invisible one. The girl who's never seen, always lost. The fire sets me apart, makes me stand out. At the very least, it will garuntee sponsors. Do I like it more? No, not really. I'll always be a chameleon. But here in the Capitol, chameleon doesn't fit.

I turn to Macey with a soft smile. "It's perfect."

-:-:-:-

We stand in the long line of tributes waiting to be interviewed. Many of the others look slightly nervous, but I feel nothing. Maybe I should be nervous. Everyone watching is a potential sponsor. But the more I think about it, the angrier I am. And so, in a monumental attempt to keep the unethical Capitol from getting under my skin, I push all feeling out

Zach and I make small talk, conversing about the little things that don't even matter anymore as we wait for our turn. We are the last in line, as the interviews progress in numerical order.

I realize I've fallen silent right before Zach leans in towards me.

"What's wrong? Now-existent cat named Suzie got your tongue?" He smirks.

I glare at him halfheartedly in response. He can tell I don't mean it. At some point last night, we had fallen into a comfortable relationship. It was dangerous, yes. But I found myself caring less and less.

I sigh in frustration at myself. I need to talk to him. We can't possibly be friends. At least one of us is going to die. I vow to speak to him after the interviews.

And then I look to the Avox that appears in front of me. I'm up next.

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**A/N: So... I'm very nervous.. :/ Please let me know what you're thinking, good or bad! I hope to update again soon, but I take the SAT in 2 weeks, and I graduate in 3, and I just got a job today... So lets be honest... The chance of me updating regularly is pretty thin. But I'm trying! And summer will be easier. :) Don't worry! I won't abandon this! (It's one of my pet peeves.. I hate it when authors do that!)**

**See you guys next update!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ..I'm so sorry guys! The only explanation I can offer to explain my disappearance is this: Reality ruined my life. Hopefully this 1D quote will keep at least the Directioners from being too mad at me!**

**This update is a short one, but I wanted to give you guys _something_. And hey, good things come in small packages, right?**

**As always, my stories look best when the paragraph width is set to 1/2!**

**Thanks to the two people who reviewed last chapter, Arielle007 and Uknowiloveu! This chapter is dedicated to you two!**

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The bright, sparkling crowd screams my name as I walk closer to Caesar. The huge white spotlights aim towards me, and I sway slightly under their heat. The experience is overwhelming. And loud. My hearing tunnels until everything is muffled and all I can hear is my heartbeat. At least this way I know I'm still living.

I'm halfway to Caesar now. It's time. I angle myself towards the crowd, striking the trigger pose as I walk. Chin up, hip out. Hands on my waist. Then the flames race up my dress, seemingly moving faster as the crowd roars with excitement. I feel the headband react also, finishing the display of light.

I turn to see Caesar laughing with delight as he finally gets the crowd to calm down. I let my hands drop and sit down in my seat, trying to breathe and concentrate.

"Cameron! Can I call you Cammie?" he barrels ahead, and addresses the crowd. "So, I don't know about the rest of you, but I am _dying_ to know about the dress! What inspired it?"

This one is easy, I think with some relief.

"My district."

His unnaturally neon eyebrows rise up into perfect arches. "Your district? Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't most of the District 12 tributes dressed in some sort of coal dust?"

"Yes, but our district mines coal. And once we have the coal, we use it for fire." I point out the obvious for the ignorant Capitol citizens.

"Brilliant!" Caesar claps. He waits to ask the next question as the cheering dies down. "So, tell me, Cammie, do you have many family members waiting, watching you now?"

There is a feral glint in his eyes, one that immediately makes me feel uneasy.

"Um, yes. My mother and sister." I keep a small smile on my face.

Caesar cocks his head and stares at me. "No father?"

My smile drops for a moment before I force it back on. I fight the memories, the flashbacks. "No."

Caesar leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "I see."

Suddenly, I realize something is off, wrong. This is not the notoriously crowd-pleasing Caesar that has appeared on television all these years. No, this is a new side of the man, one that I know only I am seeing. The crowd is just as dense as ever.

"If I may, how did your father die?"

"It was a mining accident. He went back in to help some of the other miners, and didn't get out. We were given a hero's ceremony in his honor." I push away the unease, just in time to give a mournful, teary eyed gaze to the audience. Any true sorrow I may have felt is overruled by my wariness, but I am convincing enough.

The crowd reacts sympathetically, sighing in sadness. I see one woman sobbing into a feather boa hanging from her neck.

"You and your family must be very proud of him… And you have no other family? Cousins, uncles…._aunts?_" It's the way he phrases the sentence, the last word, that immediately sets off alarms in my mind.

I keep my breathing steady, my expression pleasant. "No, it's just me, Liz, and our mother."

Caesar manipulates his expression into a sad look. "Well, I'm sure they are all very proud of you. And you are quite a heroine yourself, back in your district! Volunteering for your sister like that. I have to say, I was almost reduced to tears!"

He lays his hand on his chest dramatically, and I breathe a sigh of relief. We are back to acting. This I can do.

"Such a heartbreaking moment, wouldn't you agree?" The question is aimed towards the audience, who cheer in agreement. We wait for the applause to die down.

Caesar turns to me. "Just one last thing… It seems pretty obvious, that you were close to your father… Did he say anything to you before he died? Any advice for if you were chosen during the reaping?"

_Follow the pigeons._

The sudden memory startles me, and I am momentarily speechless. I frantically search my brain for something to say, anything to say.

"He, he told me to try and win. Try and win for him."

Caesar's fake smile appears on his face, seemingly more menacing than I'd ever seen it. He leans close and pats my hand. "And I'm sure you will…. Ladies and gentleman! Cameron Everdeen of District Twelve!"

And then the nightmare is over.

-:-:-:-

I make my way off the stage, smiling at the people near me. As soon as I pass the few people standing in the wings, I break into a run. Faster and faster. Past the endless hallways, the suffocating superiority. My heels fly off my feet as I reach the staircase, and I race up the steps.

_Follow the pigeons._

I end up on an empty side of the roof, away from the cameras, and begin to pace. The interview plays in my mind, over and over again as I analyze everything Caesar said.

_You have no other family? Cousins, uncles….**aunts?**_

He had stressed the last word, unintentionally. Aunts. I think back to the photo from the passageway. The girl that looks so similar to my mother. Aunts.

There is only one obvious answer. She has to be my aunt. Assuming, of course, that I wasn't just reading way much into Caesar's change… His leering face flashes into my mind again, and I shake my head. No way.

_How did your father die?_

Why would he ask that? This has nothing to do with the Hunger Games, nothing to do with me. As far as they know, at least. There is one thing nobody knows, one _minor_ detail about my father's death that no one is aware of. _I was there._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_Did he say anything to you before he died?_

**_Follow the pigeons._**

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**A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Please leave a review! I'd like to know how I'm doin :/  
**

**And to everyone who read my one-shot When He Smiles, I'm working on a Bex-based sequel! If you haven't read When He Smiles, Please drop by, read, and review! It's a story about Zach's smirk, and why he smirks so much! **

**Thanks so much guys!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: HAPPY 14TH OF JULY! *cue fireworks*  
**

**...Can I just say, before I make any excuses about the wait, having two jobs _sucks_. I thought, back in high school, "I can't wait until I get a job, and I'm done with school! It'll be amazing!" And it is. This is true. But it is in no way shape or form _easier_. Not at all. It kicks my butt daily.**

**So now that the rant is over, and I'm down off my soapbox... How've you guys been? :)**

**I have seriously spent the last month morking my two jobs, and reviewing. A lot. Because I realized that I don't ever review stories, and now that this story is seriously only getting 2 reviews a chapter, I thought I'd make someone else feel good about their writing skills. Honestly guys, reviews inspire authors to keep writing. It keeps us going!**

**[And speaking of the reviews... Are we not reviewing because we don't like the story? These things make me sad :( ]**

**I hope you guys like this one. I wrote it quickly in an attempt to give you guys an update, so sorry for any mistakes! It's pretty short, but eventful just the same.. A few questions are answered! Here ya go:**

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I'm losing my mind.

The thought makes me feel better, calms me down slightly. At least, if I _am_ losing my mind, then it's just me. I'm the only problem. It would most likely mean there's nothing to connect my family to the Gallathorne Games. No meaning to the strange pictures I've found, or the leering glances from certain Capitol public officials.

I could stop obsessing about the strange pieces of the puzzle that never seem to fit. The amnesiac who thinks his mother is the cruelest ruler in all of Panem. Our strange and mysterious mentor who seems to know my family background better than I do.

It would end all of that. Sure, I would then have to focus and obsess about my impending insanity. But, maybe that would be easier. Better to be slightly crazy than extremely dead.

The thought stuns me. The games have only just begun; the Games haven't even started yet. Have I given up hope already?

No.

I shake my head vehemently. No, I made a promise.

A promise to Lizzie. _Okay. I promise, Lizzie. I promise, I'll try to win._

A promise to my father. _I promise! I'll follow them… Don't leave!_

I lean against the thick stone railing that lines the edge of the rooftop. There's yet another party happening below. Every night it seems. Every night during the Games at least. But, knowing the Capitol citizens, maybe it's ever night no matter the occasion. They're certainly mental enough.

The party below is set up in the main plaza. Nine giant screens are set up above to form a giant square. The screens catch my eye right as my face appears on them. Flattering. Or at least it would be, if they weren't planning my death. Zach's face appears moments after and the screaming increases, if it's at all possible for the sound to reach a higher decibel.

They have already labeled us. We're apparently together now. The "star-crossed lovers of District Twelve." But it's not true, to my growing dismay.

I slump to my knees on the cold, rough concrete, turning my back on the celebration below. Is this normal? Do regular 16 year old girls think about guys this much? I don't know. How can I? The most important thing in my life has always been keeping my family fed. Not anymore. Now it's staying alive. And maybe that's why I've subconsciously let myself like him. It's a lighter topic to think about. A break from the whole "impending death" thing.

My mother was never one to talk to me about life. About boys. About anything normal. My father would have. Had he been alive….

_I woke up to a hand brushing my hair off my forehead. The feather-light touch was gone moments later, in a late attempt at not waking me up. The light made my eyes squint tight as I opened them and caught sight of my father. He was dressed in his mining clothes, headed out to work for the day. _

"_Daddy?" I called out softly, catching his attention._

_He turned around and gestured for me to follow him into the next room. He kneeled down to my level as I got closer._

"_Hey, Mockingjay," Dad brushed a strand of hair from my face. "I'm just headed out to work."_

_It's the 'just' that caught my attention. I frowned thoughtfully. "Okay. I love you, Daddy."_

"_I love you too… Always remember that, okay?"_

_In retrospect, as I looked back in the years to come, this moment would haunt me. It seemed so obvious, so final. But I missed it. _

"_I will."_

_He kissed my forehead and left the house. It was another thirty minutes before I realized he had left his lunch on our rickety dinner table. I drew myself up, decidedly taking on the task of giving it to him, a seemingly monumental feat for an eight year-old. _

_The sky seemed overcast that day, I noticed as I headed out to find my father. The pathway to the mines only took a few minutes, but I was still thankful for the clouds that shielded me from the sun's sharp glare. _

_It was an oft-spoken rule that children weren't allowed in the mines. Everyone knew that. But I snuck into one of the hidden entrances anyway. No one else knew about them but me. The mine workers used the front entrance, but I was an explorer. And the easy way in was too visible. I searched for other entrances often, exploring the mines when I got bored. Today was the first time I would let my father see me._

_Later I would wonder why, why I would make myself visible after years and years of hiding from miners. But deep down, I knew. Something was wrong. _

_I wound through the tunnels in the mine until I reached where Dad had been working yesterday. Today the mine was oddly silent. I frowned as the emptiness registered in my brain. Where were all the workers? _

"_-Abby's idea. The plan has worked so far, but I still think it's too risky. They could find her too easily! She's hiding in plain sight." My father's voice. Worried, stressed. _

"_You need to trust her. She's very good at what she does. It runs in the family. Cammie's just like her. And you." This unknown voice was deeper, calmer than Dad's._

"_I know. That worries me too. This whole situation is dangerous…Let's just hope she isn't foun-" Dad's voice cuts off as a faint rumbling echoes through the mine._

"_Run! They've found us!" _

_And suddenly, Dad rounded the corner and spotted me instantly. _

"_Cammie!" The look on his face scared me. "You need to get out! Now!"_

_The rumbling was getting louder and the dirt walls were beginning to shake. _

_I held up the bag in my arms and rambled, "Your lunch!"_

"_Cammie, now!" He grabbed my hand, causing the lunch to fall from my grip as he pulled me towards the entrance. I looked as we ran. He was taking me a way I'd never come before. _

_We must've been close when he suddenly stopped, indecision settling on his face. That's when I realized: the other man hadn't followed us. _

"_Mockingjay, look at me."_

_I obeyed fearfully as tears began to stream down my face._

"_I love you. I'll see you at home, okay?" His shaky grin didn't calm my nerves._

"_No, don't leave me, Daddy!"_

"_It's okay! Follow the pigeons. They'll show you the way out."_

"_I promise! I'll follow them… Don't leave!"_

_His smile wavered. He pointed to the wall across from us. There was a tiny etching of a bird in the dirt walls. A pigeon. "Always follow them!"_

_I nodded, and sobbed: "I love you, Daddy!"_

_He sent me towards the pigeon with one last hug. "I love you too! Follow the pigeons!"_

_I ran blindly, not stopping until I was outside, in the middle of a tree grove. The woods we would hunt in. I was ten steps into the grove when the explosion shook the air. _

_I fell to my knees, sobbing. "No!" My screams tore through the air._

_Suddenly, two hands close around my arms, shaking me gently._

"Mockingjay!"

I gasp aloud, my vision clearing. The arms close around me momentarily, a short hug, before they pull away again.

Zach.

"D-did..Did you just call me…? Mockingjay?"

Zach nods. And then the dam breaks.

He pushes wet strands of hair away from my face, tries in vain to wipe away my tears. And I let him. I collapse against him, too emotionally gone to be as embarrassed as I normally would be. Should be.

We sit there for a few moments more as I regain control. And then for minutes after that.

'Safe' is not a feeling I get often. It's rare for me to feel protected, comforted. Especially when someone is holding me. And yet, as silly as it seems to feel safe in the Capitol, I do. And I like it.

-:-:-:-

"We've got to stop doing this. Meeting like this. It's ruining my reputation."

I glare at Zach's mildly teasing tone. We're still sitting on the roof. And he knows now. He saw Caesar. He knows about my father. How it's my fault he's dead. Everything.

And I've stopped trying to fight it. Us. That.

"What is this?" I ask the question. The question that's been running through my mind since the training center. _Why are we doing this?_

He doesn't pretend to misunderstand. "Don't know. What should it be?" His eyes meet mine.

I have no answer. What is there to say?

So I say nothing.

And we kiss anyway.

* * *

**A/N: ...! What'cha think? Please leave a review and let me know! When you review (because you wouldn't want to disappoint me.. right?) let me know what your favorite quote is from the chapter!  
**

**Also, three notes before you leave:**

**1.) I keep seeing notes about GG fanfiction awards? Where do I find these?  
**

**2.) I've decided to start taking requests for short stories! Prompts I guess? Leave a review with an idea you'd like me to try, a quote or line you want a story based off of, and I'll message you when it's been posted!  
**

**3.) The sequel to When He Smiles is up! It's titled: Being A Baxter. I hope you guys like it! If you could read it, and leave a review, I would be so happy! Seriously! The next chapter will be dedicated to my Being A Baxter reviewers! Extra points for people who review this chapter too!  
**

**I'm already thinking about the third installment... Liz maybe? ... :)**

**Thanks guys!**


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